Language Barrier
by lightning bird
Summary: Nazi zombies, explosive popcorn, and a knock on the head all come together to prove that Dexter really does talk funny.
1. Can You Lose Something You Never Had?

**Language Barrier**

A/N My thanks to Devoted2Supernatural, who handed me this delightful jackalope at DragonCon last year, to the1hobbit and Chinese Fox for their assistance, and to Cybra and Deserthaze just because.

**OoOoOoOoOoOoO**

**Part the First: Can You Lose Something You Never Had?**

". . . idea of what happened?"

"Not really. The alarms went off and -"

"Why do I keep finding popcorn in his collar?"

"Because he was buried in about three feet of it when I opened the door to the lab he was working in."

"Three feet?"

"Give or take."

"Of popcorn."

"Of popcorn. Yes. I can get you an exact measurement if you think it will help."

"What the heck was the owner of DexCorp doing buried in three feet of popcorn?"

"Practicing being unconscious, Doctor. How's he doing?"

"Waking up. I think he was just stunned. See? Life."

Dexter stirred, unable to keep from groaning a little as he woke up to two white blurs, one with black hair and one with gray. Gentle hands helped him to sit up and he shielded his aching eyes, the motion dislodging more popcorn stuck in his elbow-length gloves.

"Dexter?"

He grumbled something, in no mood or condition to speak, so Utonium just let him be for now and busied himself with picking bits of popcorn out of Dexter's hair. Dr. Cardon was examining him, and Dexter winced as light was shined in his eyes.

"Did you hit your head?"

Dexter shook said head, distinctly remembering his fall being cushioned.

"Shock wave?" suggested the Professor, able to guess (in part) what had knocked his ward for a loop.

He nodded this time, rather horrified to realize he'd been hospitalized by . . . popcorn. Done in by snack food. Ben would never let him live this down.

"Well, you've got a minor concussion, young man," announced Cardon. "No more work today or tomorrow. You need to rest. And I mean _rest_, not sit on your duff and work."

_Spoilsport,_ Dexter thought viciously, knowing Cardon wouldn't care what epithets might be thrown his way (even though the Professor would). The man had no notion of how unutterably _boring_ rest could be.

"Knock, knock!"

Dexter closed his eyes at the colorful distortion that was his physics tutor. Even from a distance he could see that Kilroy Green was smiling broadly in triumph, showing off pointed yellow teeth as he brandished a bowl in one hand a pair of glasses in the other.

"Popcorn, anyone?"

"Where'd it come from?" asked Utonium suspiciously, taking a handful.

"The electronics lab. I stopped to get Dexter's glasses like you asked and for some reason it's full of popcorn. I had Computress scan it. It's fine. Actually, it's delicious. All it needs is some salt."

"Ask the nurse," advised Cardon, still prodding at his impatient patient.

"But why all the popcorn?" was the demon's innocent inquiry, eating some more. He looked down in surprise as he stepped on something that crunched.

"Good question," the Professor said, reaching out to rub Dexter's back as he cast his employee a significant look. Green caught sight of Dexter's general state of disarray and the pieces of popcorn stuck in the boy's hair and scattered about on the examination table and floor. Hastily he looked away, setting the popcorn down and forcing himself not to laugh as he came to many of the same conclusions that Utonium had.

Dexter groaned, wishing he could lapse back into unconsciousness until this was all over (and the lab was cleaned up). Kilroy leaned over to smile at him.

"I think these are yours."

Sitting up, he took the proffered glasses gratefully, the motion spilling more popcorn onto his lap as he said, "Yes, thank you, Mr. Green."

He slid the glasses onto his face, finally able to see clearly. He blinked in surprise to see his guardian, his teacher, and his doctor all staring at him in speechless astonishment. Dexter looked from one man to the next, wondering what they were about. Cardon was frozen in place, gaping. Kilroy's hand was paused in mid air, the popcorn he was about to eat falling from his fingers. The Professor wore a look of wonder and amazement.

"What?" he asked, suddenly self-conscious. "What's wrong? Why are you staring? What, have I turned blue? No offense to your cousin, Mr. Green."

They kept staring. He stared back.

"What?"

"Say that again," instructed the Professor.

"What?"

"Anything."

"Anything? What – what on earth is wrong with me?" He felt panic rise and he put a hand to his chest. With a growl of annoyance he reached into his lab coat and pulled out a few stray pieces of popcorn, which he threw to the floor in disgust. He sounded . . . strange. Off. Incorrect. His own ears could hear the weird pronunciations rolling off his tongue. What had happened? Why couldn't he speak properly? "Dad – what's wrong with my voice?"

Utonium looked at the doctor and the physicist standing with him, then back to Dexter. "Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Dexter, you're just speaking without your accent."

He stared at the man, unable to comprehend his meaning. "Accent? I've never had an accent." His eyes grew huge as realization hit him and he clapped his hands to his head, instantly regretting the impact against his sore skull. _"Until_ _now!"_

"No, no, Dexter," the Professor said calmly as he tried to soothe the young teen. "You _had_ an accent. Now you're speaking normally."

"No I'm not!" he insisted, hardly able to believe his own ears. "Listen to me! I can hear it! This is not normal! There's something seriously wrong with the way I'm speaking!" he said, unaware that he was speaking perfectly clearly and without the least hint of that over-the-top mad scientist accent that marked his normal pronunciation. "It must be the concussion. I'm losing the ability to communicate. Perhaps I'm bleeding in my brain, or swelling is interfering with the Broca area of my brain and inhibiting my ability to speak. I think a CT scan would be in order, Doctor."

"Help me," muttered the President of DexCorp International to his patently useless cohorts. Neither Green nor Cardon seemed to have blinked once since Dexter first opened his mouth. "Dexter, there's nothing wrong with the way you're speaking."

He looked at his beloved guardian, the man he called his father, and said, "You don't have to placate me, Dad. I can tell there's something completely off with the way I'm enunciating my vowels and the inflection I'm somehow using right now is putting emphasis and stresses on words where they clearly don't belong. I must sound as if I'm speaking absolute gibberish to you gentlemen and right now all I can do is offer my abject apologies since clearly you're having so much difficulty understanding what I'm saying."

It was so strange to hear the redhead speaking as if he came from the Mid West (which he did) and not the Soviet Bloc (which he didn't) that the Professor was momentarily stunned to realize that Dexter was absolutely right – he _was_ having difficulty understanding him. So used was he to that inexplicable Eastern European twang that he found himself inserting h's and w's at various intervals where his brain expected to hear them. Dexter gazed at him sadly and pretended not to notice as Utonium smacked Kilroy Green in the arm to rouse and rally him, and Green passed the smack on to Cardon. Sadness gave way to moping and mentally cursing popcorn and his own curiosity as he prepared himself for a life of lonely silence and being misunderstood. He'd already isolated himself from most of the world as it was. He'd make a clean break of it and never talk again . . .

"I have the presentation for the Army Air Corp and the Air Force tomorrow!" Dexter gasped, his horror overriding his short-lived vow of silence. He panicked at the notion of having to address a crowd of high-ranking officers and contractors with such a crippling speech impediment. "The targeting system we developed for the Navy! I can't do this! I'll be a laughing stock! No one will know what I'm saying!"

"Dexter-"

"I'll never be able to sell another weapons system or hover board or Dexbot or any hockey gear!"

"Dexter-"

"I'm ruined! Ruined!"

"Dexter-"

"WHAAAAAAT?"

"Stop it. You're raving."

"Okay."

He clammed up instantly, realizing his father was (as always and ever) absolutely right and he was overreacting and jumping to extreme conclusions, not to mention making a fool of himself prematurely.

"You make hockey gear?" asked Cardon, surprised. He backed off when Utonium gave him a sour look as if to say now was not the time. Green retrieved his bowl of popcorn and hugged it possessively, sneaking more pieces as the drama - it it could be called that - unfolded.

"Dexter?"

"Yes, Dad?"

"Are you listening?"

"Yes, Dad."

"Good. That's all I want you to do for a moment, okay?"

He nodded, taking his father at his word.

"First, there is absolutely nothing wrong with the way you're talking right now. Yes," he allowed, gesturing with both hands, "your inflection and pronunciation are a bit off, but we understand you perfectly well."

A skeptical right eyebrow was arched at him.

"Second, your imagined speech impediment is no barrier to your financial success."

Dexter's left eyebrow joined its companion.

"Third, there's nothing to indicate that this condition is permanent or will impact your ability to communicate effectively. Say something in French."

_"Quelque chose en français."_

He could hear it. Foreign languages were not exempt from this sudden shift between being able to enunciate properly and sounding as if he had outstayed his visa. It was evident the Professor heard the difference, too, because he quickly moved on.

"Do you understand? There's nothing wrong with your speech."

He took that as permission to resume two-way communication. "Perhaps it's my hearing, then."

Utonium tried a different tack. "Dexter, something about . . . whatever it is you did with all that popcorn has made you lose your accent."

"What? Dad, there was nothing to lose."

Utonium sighed and hung his head in defeat.

"Everyone has an accent, Dexter," Mr. Green volunteered diplomatically, still clinging to his bowl of popped corn. "Yours was a little more . . . pronounced than most."

Dexter faced them patiently. "Gentlemen, please. It comes as a shock, yes, but I'm sure with years of therapy and disciplined practice I'll be able to overcome this hurdle and resume normal speech. Until then I ask that you cease these attempts to mollify or appease me. I'm not a child. I can deal with this setback."

The Professor clapped a hand to his already hanging head. Cardon took the opportunity to backtrack.

"Okay, let's not martyr ourselves yet. I need to know what knocked you silly in the first place, Boss."

Dexter made a little sound of, "Ah," and shifted uncomfortably, not in any way eager to put so silly a situation on display, especially in front of these three. The only saving grace was that his chief of security, Chip Morton, wasn't present. "Well -"

"Excuse me, sirs," said Sgt. Morton, rounding the corner and insuring that Dexter's humiliation was complete. He carried a clipboard as if he'd been born with it in his hand. "We're finishing up our initial report on the . . . well, the lab's not actually damaged, it's just full of popcorn."

"One hundred, twenty-six pounds of it," muttered Dexter.

Chip blinked, staring at his young employer and wondering if he'd heard aright.

"Don't ask," ordered Utonium.

The former Navy lieutenant commander managed to backpedal with more grace than the other men. "Right you are, sir. I'll get a clean-up crew and we can pull the security recordings for that laboristhatnotagoodidea?" he finished in a rapid mutter as Dexter let out a sound of anguished embarrassment.

DexLabs standard operating procedure required that all incidents be investigated and reported upon - and a large part of the investigations were based on the recordings taken in every lab and hall and work station. Almost every inch of the place was recorded 24x7, and the electronics lab where Dexter had been working on his latest pet project was no exception to that rule. He knew exactly what they would see on the video, and if he had the least clue that this was going to happen, he would have ordered Computress to turn all the cameras off.

"Sgt. Morton?"

He hid his curiosity beneath the veneer of professionalism and he faced the billionaire owner of DexCorp International with a perfectly straight face. "Yes, sir?"

"I want an exact count of how many unpopped kernels you find."

Not even Charles Phillip Morton could maintain his game face in light of a request so ridiculous. There was a long pause as incredulous looks were exchanged, and then the head of DexLabs Security managed to keep his voice from squeaking as he said,

"Yes, sir. Uh, want us to save any unpopped corn we find?"

For a moment Dexter considered, his gloved hand pressed to his mouth. "Good idea," he finally decided. "See to it, Mr. Morton."

The sergeant blinked and then realized he was being given an escape route. "Right away, sir."


	2. Brains, Grains, and Radio Waves

**Part the Second: Brains, Grains, and Radio Waves**

_"Dexter?"_

_"Yes, Dad?"_

_"Want to tell me the deal with the popcorn?"_

_"Um, not really."_

_"Tough."_

**_One week prior:_**

"_Eaten ze brainen_ is not German!"

They sat on the sofa in front of a massive television screen, riveted by their late-night viewing of the B-movie classic _Band of Zombies_. Dexter was having a difficult time accepting the concept of Nazi zombies and he could not understand (or keep quiet about) how such disorganized, slow-moving creatures were able to catch any of the apparantly inept American troops they had surrounded in a medieval castle, nor why so many high-ranking Nazis should converge on one point in the French countryside. He was keeping Ben highly amused with a running commentary on historical inaccuracies in the movie from sets to uniforms to troop movements. The redhead was alternating between talking to Ben and exclaiming at the television, and Ben was having more fun watching Dexter than the movie. He couldn't wait until they got to the part with the sharks - he was betting that Dexter would implode. Better still, Ben had the sequel in the pile of DVDs he'd brought, _Nazi Zombies from Mars. _He was looking forward to Dexter's opinion on the Nazis' ultra-secret space program and their unreasonable desire to conquer Mars before they conquered Europe.

"C'mon, they're zombies," argued Ben. "Cut 'em a break."

"Well, why are they speaking in English, then?"

"Because they can!"

"But _why_ can they? And they did not call themselves Nazis. They called themselves National Socialists. Even dead they should be able to get their own party's name right."

"What do you want, Shakespeare? Besides, I bet if they said it in German, the American guys wouldn't know they were in trouble."

His accent was scathing as he said, "Yeah, because packs of roving Nazis are so commonplace and non-threatening that anyone would ignore them."

"I do. All the time," Ben laughed, digging in the bowl of popcorn.

"You're defending the Third Reich, Benjamin."

"Zombies have rights too, Dex."

"Pfft. Nobody had rights in the Third Reich." Dexter watched him pick a few pieces form the dregs in the bottom of the bowl and said, "I can make more."

"Okay." He shook the bowl and a last few burn kernels of corn rattled around as he handed it over to his friend. "Ever wonder how much popcorn we miss out on because of the ones that don't pop?"

"Never until this moment. Thank you for the suggestion." He paused the movie and stood, taking the bowl to the kitchen of the family's suite. As he dumped out the kernels into the trash, Ben's question lingered, and with a sigh of annoyance Dexter realized he now had popcorn on the brain.

The microwave seemed to take an annoyingly long time to produce the desired results as he popped more corn. When finally it was done and Dexter was pouring the popcorn into the bowl, he noticed a few stray kernels that had escaped exploding. He picked one up, holding it to eye level as he considered the blackened seed. He knew the science behind how and why corn popped – moisture and oil retained inside the kernel boiled and exploded, rapidly expanding the softened starch inside. There were a number of possible reasons why this kernel hadn't popped – temperatures too high or too low were the most common - and his mind was going over them when Ben arrived.

Dexter threw the piece of corn into the trash and growled, "Do you have any idea of what you've done?"

"Yeah, I finished all the soda," said Ben, digging in the refrigerator for more and completely missing Dexter as he rolled his eyes and looked heavenwards for strength.

Dexter being Dexter, he was unable to drop it, and the next day he sent down to the kitchens for unpopped corn. To his annoyance, the only stuff available was of the pre-packaged microwaveable variety which, he quickly discovered, did not suit his purposes. Undeterred, he called Security and ordered Sgt. Dearborn to send someone out to get him thirty pounds of unpopped, non-microwave-ready popcorn. Used to such oddball requests coming down from on high (or up from the depths since Dexter called from his laboratory),Dearborn sent an officer on a search that took the man through eight grocery stores in three towns. Hours later he returned triumphant with six full cases of the stuff, wisely figuring that more would be called for eventually and effectively hording all supplies of regular, unpopped popcorn in the whole county. (Mandark, spying on DexLabs as was his usual habit, got wind of this new snack food interest and immediately sent a team to buy every last bit of unpopped popcorn in the state in the hopes of figuring out what Dexter was up to this time. Within twenty-four hours he found himself the proud owner of three tractor-trailers worth of grain with more on the way and no idea of what he was going to do with it all, so he started by making a bowlful of hot buttery popcorn and gloating at having robbed Dexter of resources).

Blissfully unaware of Mandark's antics, Dexter carried on with his program. His intent was simple – maximum output of popcorn with a minimal amount of time and effort (after the fact – he didn't count all his time, research, and money spent as effort). That he should have been working on other, more important projects did not occur to him. Popcorn was on his mind and there it would stay until he solved this problem or got bored with it. Since the suggestion had been derived from Ben, he knew perfectly well that boredom would not factor into this. It was a challenge unwittingly handed him from the Wielder of the Omnitrix – a challenge he intended to win whether Ben knew it or not. He made no references of this new obsession to his family or to teachers since he didn't consider it to be worth mentioning. Besides, he strongly suspected his sisters would give him their usual quizzical looks that told him he was being weird and the Professor would simply start craving popcorn.

He was forced to move up to the electronics lab after two days because the ventilation system there was better equipped to cleanse the air, in this case of the smell of charred popcorn. He worked alone in what little time off he had, and it wasn't until the third day that he saw any real progress. By now he had acquired a full pallet of the type of popcorn needed - ordered for him by Chef Daal from somewhere out of state - because he was going through the stuff at a remarkable rate. The lab was full of cases of popcorn, piled high on all available surfaces.

He started with microwaves and worked his way up and down the wavelengths, subjecting corn to all sorts of radiation in varying concentrations in the name of science and a fast track to healthy snacks. By the process of elimination Dexter was able to pinpoint the exact frequency of ultraviolet waves to (almost) instantly detonate a single kernel of corn. He was satisfied, but one kernel at a time would not get him far, especially on the rare occasions when he and Ben were able to have a movie night (to date that had happened exactly twice, and Dexter was astounded at how good a really bad movie could be when you watched them with a gung-ho friend).

It was an easy enough task to make a hair blower-sized transmitter cannon to deliver a quick burst of concentrated energy capable of exploding a Petri dish full of kernels (and the Petri dish, but he didn't count that at this stage). A metal bowl worked even better because some of the waves reflected and popped more kernels. When he polished the bowl he achieved a 93% pop rate. If he could mirror the surface, Dexter was sure he could push the ratio higher still, but a layer of aluminum foil alone pushed the ratio up to 96%.

Another case of detonated corn later and he felt he could sit on his laurels. Shiny surfaces and short wavelengths were poised to revolutionize the world of movie enjoyment and popcorn technology (though he did indulge in a great deal of fun with target practice by using the transmitter like a gun to shoot individual kernels, even bouncing the beam off the shiny tiled walls to hit his intended victims). He refined the transmitter into something more streamline, rather like a cross between a hand-held radio and TV remote. He was working on calibrating it when DeeDee arrived.

"Hi, Dexter!" she shrilled, stomping into the lab unannounced, uninvited, and unwanted by her little brother.

"DeeDee, get out of my laboratory. I'm busy."

She laughed and tossed her blonde pigtails, lifting the edges of her tutu and sashaying around the lab with the graceful ease of a dancer. "No, you're not! Mmmm! You're making popcorn!"

"Obviously. How is that not busy?"

As anticipated, she had no answer other than, "Uh, I dunno."

"What do you want?" he demanded, bending over the transmitter.

"Wee!" She played with the switches and buttons on the equipment he was trying to use. "I came to see you."

Dexter slapped her hands away. "You've seen me, sister. Now go."

"You're so cute!" she cooed, immune to his sarcasm.

"And you're an idiot," he muttered. "Don't touch that!"

DeeDee drew her hand back from the microscope. "Can I have some popcorn?"

"Go ahead. Let me know if it's safe to eat."

"Okay!"

He rolled his eyes as she dug into the bowl of popcorn he had popped a few minutes ago (still at 96% pop ratio – he really needed to get a mirrored bowl). He watched, but she didn't keel over. That proved nothing – DeeDee had the constitution of a vending machine and seemed second only to Billy in being able to digest anything she could swallow. Dexter had not been so blessed as to have an iron stomach.

"So what are you making?" asked DeeDee through a mouthful of popcorn.

"A transmitter that will simultaneously pop all the kernels of popcorn that fall within the radius of its beam."

"A whu?" she asked, leaning over the radio equipment attached to the computer he was using. She was trying to see better, but really all she managed to do was drop a few pieces of popcorn as she leaned far over his work station.

"A popcorn popper. Come," he ordered, knowing he'd never be rid of her otherwise. "I'll show you."

He poured some popcorn into his foil-lined bowl and handed her a pair of goggles. "Put these on. Over. Your. Eyes," he ordered when she spent a minute arranging them just so atop her head. "Now take this transmitter and hold it directly over the bowl. That's it. Now push the button."

There was a _crack!_ as several hundred kernels of corn simultaneously exploded, and suddenly the bowl was filled with steaming white popcorn. DeeDee gaped in delight, thrilled at the sight of so much food and she pulled the goggles off to see better.

"Oooooh! Dexter, can I have it?"

"The transmitter? No! I'm still working on it."

"Not that, silly," she said. "The popcorn."

"Oh. It's yours."

Dexter squeaked as she tossed the transmitter aside to claim her prize, lunging to catch the device before it hit the tiled floor. He scooped it out of the air and stood up, glaring at DeeDee.

"Oops," she whispered. "Sorry."

"DeeDee! You could have broken it!" Annoyed, he slapped the transmitter onto the table. He looked down in horror at his own conduct. "Crap," he added. "I think I just did."

Wide-eyed, brother and sister peered at the handheld unit, but there didn't seem to be anything immediately wrong with it. With a bit more care that before Dexter set it aside to check as soon as he could decently get rid of DeeDee. Luckily the bowl of popcorn was a big enough distraction to keep her away from the equipment in the room and she left a few minutes later. It was worth the loss of the bowl to get rid of her. Alone again, he sat down and bent over the transmitter, checking for damage and hooking it up to the computer banks to run a diagnostic. It seemed to be intact, so he set up a few test kernels to zap and make sure it was still in proper working order. He took aim, and -

**OoOoOoOoOoOoO**

_"And?"_

_"I realize now that DeeDee, with her obsessive compulsive button-pushing, brother-annoying disorder, turned on the amplifiers. All of them. At full volume."_

_"Essentially turning the whole room into one giant transmitter. Ouch."_

_"In retrospect, yes."_

**OoOoOoOoOoOoO**

There were over a dozen, ten-pound boxes of unpopped popcorn stacked on the lab tables around him. The instanteous detonation of almost every kernel exploded bags and boxes in every direction and filled the lab with popcorn. The abrupt concussion in so contained a space was enough to knock Dexter off of the stood he was perched upon and spill him to the floor. He remembered losing his glasses, remembered seeing nothing but fluffy whiteness for a split second. He didn't remember losing consciousness, but he did remember thinking that this was a very stupid way to be knocked out.


	3. Dissed

**Part the Third: Dissed**

"Dad, I really don't want to do this."

"Dexter, trust me. You can do this. It's not anything you haven't done dozens of times before."

"They won't understand a thing I'm saying!"

"They'll be able to hear and understand you perfectly. Just get up there and speak slowly and don't get yourself worked up over nothing."

"But what if they say something or ask what's wrong with the way I'm speaking?"

"You've never met these officers before. They won't say anything because they don't know better."

"I sound so stupid!"

"You're just overreacting."

"Does that mean I'm right?"

"What, that you sound stupid? No. Because you don't. You sound perfectly normal."

"Define normal."

"The way you're speaking. Now quit stalling. You're already ten minutes late."

Dexter took a deep breath and squared his shoulders as he steeled himself for the trial ahead. The Professor's gentle hand propelled him into the meeting room where a dozen high-ranking Army Air Corp and Air Force officers waited. Utonium smiled encouragingly as he closed the door on Dexter's last, pleading look and the tiny whine that escaped his throat, making him Chip's problem for a little while. A long sigh escaped Utonium and he shook his head, wishing Dexter would realize the world hadn't ended because he no longer sounded as if he came from Zarcovia or any other cast-off Soviet dictatorship.

He headed for his office in a vain attempt to get anything done. It was a lost cause. He was waiting to hear from Dr. Cardon about Dexter's condition, and, despite his casual treatment of Dexter, the delay in receiving word was troublesome to his peace of mind. He knew perfectly well if he displayed the least concern that Dexter would be utterly useless and most likely convince himself he was dying of some obscure syndrome brought on by overexposure to corn. Utonium was fairly sure his boy's loss of accent was temporary – Dexter had slept the night through and, except for jarring loose his pseudo-Russian accent and sleeping like the dead, so far showed no ill effects from detonating over a hundred pounds of popcorn all in one shot other than near-terminal embarrassment when he saw the security footage (which went from the nice Boy Genius sitting at the lab table and minding his own business one moment to a deluge of white from all directions engulfing him and the lab table like some spontaneous avalanche a second later) and an understandable aversion to popcorn.

He just hoped that Dexter didn't get it in his head to reconstruct the accident in the hopes of reversing the effects. That sort of thing only worked in cartoons, though he knew Dexter could justify just about anything to himself no matter how stupid it seemed in retrospect. He wanted to avoid the whole notion completely, which was part of the reason he wasn't giving credence to Dexter's insistence that he (now) had an accent. Look at what his passing obsession with popcorn had wrought – getting his accent back (or losing the one he thought he had) would be playing with fire, quite possibly literally. Giving Dexter ideas was dangerous, and the Professor promised himself was going to give Ben a talking-to the next time he was here.

In the end, the opportunity to chew out the Wielder of the Omnitrix came sooner than anticipated. Less than an hour later he went to collect Dexter and make sure he hadn't collapsed in upon himself out of self-induced stress. Despite his youth Dexter was quite used to making business presentations, especially to military officers and contractors since the manufacture and development of weapons was what had put DexLabs on the map. So long as no one got too close to him or asked stupid questions, he could hold his own with ease.

True to form, Dexter had himself worked up – the proverbial tempest in a teacup because the officers were enjoying lively conversations and comparing notes as they examined the handouts, seemingly unaware that there was anything amiss with the Boy Genius as he had a quiet little breakdown. He clutched the lectern with both hands and carefully answered their many questions, but the Professor knew that beneath those purple latex gloves, Dexter was white-knuckled and if tension could be converted into electricity, Dexter could power all of Downtown for a day or more. Utonium smiled and nodded to the officers and sidled over to where Sgt. Morton watched his charge like an overbearing, overprotective mother hawk armed with a rifle (which an Air Force colonel was eyeing with undisguised lust).

"How's he holding up?" asked the Professor softly.

Chip's lips barely moved as he said, "He's not. He really needs his accent back, Professor. He may not be able to hear it, but he sure knows something is missing. I think he thinks they're just being nice."

Utonium sighed again. He was so used to Dexter's thick accent that this break from it wasn't as refreshing as he'd initially thought it would be. Dexter just wasn't Dexter without it, and that fact was making itself known. His three sisters had stared so hard at him last night that the redhead hid in his room, and even his cat, Einstein, ignored him completely until it was time to eat and then immediately after he was fed. Dexter had been crushed.

"Any word from the doc?"

"Not yet. I hope he's got a solution for this . . . whatever it is."

"How do you cure an accent?"

"I'm more concerned about reversing what we've got now."

"Actually, sir, I'm having trouble following what he's saying _without _the accent."

"Same here. Okay, I'll get him home and calm him down. You take care of the brass."

"Good luck, sir."

He needed it. Dexter barely said three words as they walked down to the family's suite. Once inside he called for Einstein, but the cat high-tailed it away from him. Dexter stood in dejected misery as his pet avoided him completely.

"Dexter?" Utonium asked carefully, knowing the boy was on the verge of cracking.

"This stinks," was all Dexter said before heading to his bedroom to mope.

The final straw came after lunch. Utonium postponed a meeting for an hour to stay in the house and make one of Dexter's favorite meals of grilled cheese and tomato soup. The teenager cheered up a little as he sat with his father and Utonium locked Einstein in the bathroom so he couldn't snub his owner again. After an unnaturally quiet lunch, he escorted Dexter to the elevators so that he could go to his lab and then hurried to the meeting. He had just sat down, just pulled out his notes, when the call came.

"_Dad."_

He took a deep breath, forcing patience. He smiled at the assembled department heads and tried to ignore the tight, mono-tone, accent-free voice emanating from the communicator on his wrist despite the odd looks he was getting.

"_Dad."_

"Excuse me." He activated the comm unit. "Dexter, I'm in a meet-"

"_Dad, Computress doesn't recognize my voi-"_

"_Initiating Breach Protocol Delta-1," _Computress suddenly declared. The Professor and almost everyone else in the room jumped as a full-sized hologram of Computress' robotic form appeared on the table before him. "Professor Utonium," she said even as a recording of her voice repeating the alarm reached them over the comm unit. "There's an imposter in the lab. It's an exact replica of Dexter except for the voice print. I've isolated the encroacher in a force field."

"_Dad, please come get me out of here."_

He sprang to his feet in desperation. "Computress – no! Stop! That's Dexter! That's him! He just doesn't have an accent!"

"_Yes, I do," _mumbled Dexter over the open line.

"Dexter - shush. We'll get this sorted. Computress?"

"My programming does not allow for variations in identification for accessing Dexter's work station," was her inflexible response.

"_That's my fault. Apparently I'm too smart for my own goo-"_

"Blocking further communications," declared the computer, and Utonium groaned in frustration. "Security is alerted and responding."

"Crap," he breathed. "Computress, quiet those alarms. Unblock his comm unit. I need to talk to him. I'll be right down, Dexter." He adjusted the communicator. "Sgt Morton?"

"_Sir?" _Morton sounded unsurprised by the sudden turn of events. Utonium cursed the smug calmness of the former executive office for the _Seaview_.

"Tell your men to stand down. I'll deal with this."

"_Sir, according to SOP-"_

"I know! I know! I'm the president of this corporation and I'm telling you to tell your men to stand down now. Let me handle this!"

"_Sir, I understand the situation, but I don't work for you. I have to insist-"_

"Fine! _You _can come, Chip. Leave your storm troopers behind." He was halfway to the door when he realized he was walking out on the meeting. He looked at the assembly of wide-eyed scientists and designers. "Uh, Mr. Green, take over. Use my notes. I'll try to get back as soon as possible."

Before Kilroy could respond he hurried out, rushing to the nearest elevator. Ruthlessly he commandeered the lift from a troop of Bean Scouts, chasing the lot of them out on the ground floor and growling at a handful of Urban Rangers that thought of trying to get in with him. He wished they had known Fuse would figure out Dexter was the one who created the Null-Void laser. They would have installed a hell of a lot more elevators if Dexter had any clue his corporate headquarters was going to be turned into a base of military operations. Next time they'd take it into consideration.

As the elevator whisked him to the underground laboratory, Utonium called Mandy via comm cube, not caring in the least what the commander-in-chief of Earth's Combined Forces was up to at the moment.

"Mandy."

_"I'm busy," _snapped the blonde, not looking up.

"And I'm ticked. That outranks busy."

She dragged her eyes away from the paperwork she was studying to glare at him. _"What?"_

"Ben Tennyson. I want him in my office tomorrow morning at the latest."

_"He's in the field."_

"Do I sound like I care?"

There was a pause as she considered his words and tone. Clearly he wasn't kidding. _"What do you want him for?"_

"I want to strangle him."

That she could understand, though she seriously doubted he'd kill his son's best friend. She rolled her eyes. _"I'll see what I can do."_

In the center of the lab was Dexter's work station and right beside the small space, penned in by force fields, was Dexter himself. He stood with his arms folded across his chest and he was doing his best to look supremely unruffled by this turn of events with indifferent results. First his cat disowned him, now his computer. Utonium sighed once again as he looked at the small figure waiting impatiently to be freed from his cell.

"Computress, recognize Patrick Lawrence Utonium and drop the force fields," he called immediately, coming as close to the glowing walls of plasma as he dared.

"Security must be present before shields can be dropped," she reminded.

Father and son sagged, mirror images of each other as each clapped a hand to his head and groaned. With nothing else to do, they waited. Utonium tried to offer a bit of comfort.

"Are you all right?"

Dexter huffed. "I'm furious."

"Oh?"

"I've accomplished something I didn't think was possible."

"What's that?"

"I've outsmarted myself."


	4. At Wit's End

**Part the Fourth: At Wit's End**

He had no idea of why he had been recalled to DexLabs, but he wasn't going to question his good fortune. Ben Tennyson was thinking longingly of at least one or two hot meals that hadn't been freeze-dried and them chemically cooked, and a better bed than a blanket on a rock and a pinecone for his pillow, which was pretty much all he had to look forward to besides a long day fighting Rending Machines (which were Fusion matter-induced vending machines with fangs) and breathing in Fusion fumes over at Prickly Pines. In truth he really didn't care why he was being sent back and Mandy hadn't offered any explanation, just a terse 'Your butt back here by 1100 tomorrow. The Professor wants a word.' He could think of no reason why he'd be in trouble for anything he'd done lately, and even if he was in trouble he'd still get some decent food out of the deal. He could only assume it was either Plumber business, a new mission, or Dexter had his knickers in a twist over something and the Professor was at his wit's end to deal with Baby Einstein. It was all good (for Ben, at least).

That he had joined the ranks of official nannies for der wunderkind bothered Ben not at all, especially when it got him away from the front lines now and then. At least with Mr. Green and Sgt. Morton along for the ride he was in good company in being able to survive Dexter for extended periods of time. Strength lay in numbers, and he knew from experience that multiple targets were harder to hit. Besides, he genuinely liked Dexter. Without always meaning to be, the kid was funny up off the scale and visiting his lab was like being in a toy store when he trotted out the latest round of cool, new inventions for Ben to try.

He had left Prickly Pines half an hour ago, which was more than enough time for Jetray to fly the 300-plus miles to DexLabs. He could see the corporate headquarters now and he circled the building a few times to slow his speed before coming to a landing on the helipad. As he powered down the Omnitrix and shed the Aerophibian form, the world went out of sharp focus and the color spectrum changed back to the visible light he was used to seeing as a human. He looked around, and to his pleasure he spotted Professor Utonium and Chip Morton standing beneath the covered walkway leading into the waiting room. He smiled and waved, but the gestures were not returned.

"Benjamin Kirby Tennyson," growled Patrick Utonium the moment he was in range. Gray eyes flashed with suppressed annoyance. "What were you thinking?"

Not for the first time Ben was rather glad he had a middle name even if it was his mother's maiden name (and pretty bad to boot, but it was still better than Dexter's middle name) because it was a fairly reliable gauge of exactly how much trouble he had landed himself in this time. To hear the whole shooting match out of the Professor was a tongue-lashing by itself and insightful as to why Dexter never argued with this man. He was plainly, vividly angry, leaving Ben feeling very exposed and guilty and at a terrible disadvantage. Morton was in stony-faced sentinel mode, so he was no help whatsoever. Ben had zero clue of what he'd done and he'd already lost this fight without getting so much as a single shot in, so he just stared at his friend's father for a long moment as he tried to collect his wits.

"Um . . ." He pursed his lips, sensing doom no matter what he said, and did his best to look cute and helpless. Knowing absolute honesty was the only possible solution in this situation, he slowly admitted, "I probably wasn't."

"No kidding," snapped Utonium, and stomped away.

Was that it? Ben spared a quick glance at the tall security officer, but Chip just gave him a narrow-eyed look and followed the president of DexCorp to the elevators. He wasn't exactly sure of what had just happened or if that was the full extent of why he'd been recalled. It seemed like a lot of trouble for a little wrath. He opted not to move from his spot for a while in order to give Utonium plenty of time to put some distance between them. When he thought it was safe, Ben dared to head for the elevator. It was close enough to lunch time to go harass him some Boy Genius.

"Hey, Dex," he called some fifteen minutes later after tracking his friend down to the indoor Japanese garden not far from the family's living quarters. Dexter was sitting by the koi pond, and he seemed to be throwing food pellets _at_ the fish, not to them (not that the carps seemed to mind). That was pretty atypical behavior, especially since fish were one of the few animals that didn't instill terror in the redhead and he tended to cozy up to things that didn't scare the willies out of him. Not that one could really cozy up to a fish, but Dexter managed a fair imitation.

Several things struck Ben as weird all at once. One, Dexter wasn't sciencing in his usual laboratory habitat. Two, he didn't so much as look at Ben or crack a smile. Three, he was quiet. Unnaturally quiet (for Dexter). Something was wrong. He was obviously cranky, but that was nothing out of the ordinary. Cranky was a state of being for the High-Strung One. It was the silence that was unnerving. Ben couldn't remember a time that Dexter's hadn't talked his ear off for the first hour or so of his arrival. Granted it had only been a little over a week since he'd last been here, but this was Dexter and the kid never ran out of things to say, at least to his best friend. Ben counted it as a major achievement if he managed to complete five or six sentences before Dexter plunged into chatterbox mode, and usually he tried to pre-empt his side of the conversation by striking first and fast.

"Any clue why your dad called me in from the front just to ask what I was thinking? Did I tick him off or something? What did I do? Why aren't you down in the lab . . . oratory? Why so quiet? Einstein got your tongue?"

There. He was well ahead of the game. He plopped down on the bench next to Dexter and watched as the Boy Genius whipped the last few pellets of koi kibble at the surface of the water before letting out a little "Hrrmph!" of annoyance and leaning heavily into his hand. That was all.

"Uh . . . Dex?" He leaned forward, trying to see the younger teen's face. "Problems, pal? Bad day?"

Dexter stared at him, silently willing the older boy to get with the program.

"Bad week?"

He nodded.

"Laryngitis?"

Dexter snorted and shook his head. Ben kept up the interrogation, amazed he was carrying the conversation.

"Did something blow up on you?"

A groan this time, and Dexter leaned his head on his hands, hunched over on the stone bench. Ben did his best to follow the clues to a logical conclusion.

"So the Professor is mad as me because you blew something up?"

He drew a deep breath and finally spoke, even if it was only a mumble. "Sort of."

Ben Tennyson stared, not sure he'd hear that right. "Say what?"

Dexter sat up and looked at him with a wry expression on his face. "Sort of."

Ben gaped. He just out-and-out gaped at the boy seated next to him. Finally he managed to speak, unable to believe his ears. "Uh, Dex? What happened to your . . ." He was going to say accent, but Dexter didn't think he had one since he couldn't detect that crazy pronunciation he bandied about. Lamely he finished, "Voice?"

"Finally!" crowed Dexter, seizing Ben by the forearms. "You can hear this? I'm talking funny? Tell me I'm talking funny!"

Funny was a relative term, but Ben knew not to go there. Instead he enthusiastically agreed, "Yeah! So what's wrong with your voice?"

"With my voice? Nothing," snapped the redhead. He let go of Ben and gestured at himself angrily. "My inflection, however . . . well . . . I have an accent."

Ben blinked in slow motion, letting himself be amazed and confused. He'd never heard Dexter speak so clearly. It was at least as strange as his normal quasi-Russian accent. No, it was worse since he was so used to weird vowels and rolling r's. Dexter without that accent just wasn't Dexter. Without the random 'h' and 'w' inserted into where they just shouldn't be and extra syllables added to the simplest words, Dexter sounded as if he came from the Mid West. It was positively boring, and Ben almost couldn't follow him.

"Where did it go? I mean come from?"

Sighing dramatically, Dexter stood. "Come. I'll show you."

**OoOoOoOoOoOoO**

It was a losing battle. As Dexter described his thought process and steps taken to maximize popcorn output while minimizing time and energy, Ben struggled harder and harder to keep from laughing. When the ultimate result of DeeDee's tampering was revealed, he fell off his lab stool, clutching his aching ribs and all but howling. Dexter glared, clearly annoyed but for the wrong reason. He thought Ben was laughing at his accent and glowered accordingly, but that was not the case at all. Ben was laughing at this new obsession with popcorn and the mental image of Dexter being overwhelmed in a tsunami of itty bitty snacks.

His breathless apology went far toward mollifying the Boy Genius, and after a bit of begging on Ben's part, Dexter produced the remote popcorn popper. Ben spent a good twenty minutes ecstatically blowing up pieces of corn (complete with laser sound effects) before Dexter could wrestle the device away from him and continue the saga. When he got to the part with acquiring the accent (or losing it, depending on the point of view) Ben sobered up a bit. He lost all self control again as Dexter described being detained by his own computer in his own laboratory.

"Ben! Stop that! This is important! I can't access Computress or any of my research because of this accent!"

When Ben finally stopped crying and could look at his friend again without bursting into laughter, he dragged himself up right and slumped back on the lab stool, completely spent.

"Are you done?" was the sarcastic question.

"No promises, Dex."

"I need to get rid of this accent."

Ben mastered the desire to smile. "What do you think you should do?"

The redhead shook his head in frustration. "I don't know. Dr. Cardon and Dad think this will correct itself, but I'm not so sure. Dad's very unconcerned."

"Seriously? He called me in from going up against those Rending Machines over at Prickly Pines to yell at me."

"Rending Machines? Really, Benjamin, who names these things?"

"People who drink too much coffee and have too much time on their hands."

"I suppose," muttered the younger teen. He'd never seen a Fusion Monster, just Fusion doubles, so he couldn't really appreciate what it was liked to be attacked by things like a row of lockers come to life.

"I think the Professor blames me for this happening."

Dexter shook his head. "Perhaps in part. Don't fret. He's just upset because he has to go to Townsville tonight. He forgot it's time for parent/teacher conferences for the girls. He'd rather go on a date than go talk to teachers. He said something about getting hives. Seriously, though, his apparent lack of concern tells me he's a lot more worried than he wants to let on even though he's glad it's forcing me to take a break from the lab."

"So that's like reverse reverse psychology?"

"That would just be psychology, then. Rather like a double negative."

"Whatever. So what made you lose – I mean get this accent?"

"Dr. Cardon thinks the concussion seems to have caused some sort of disconnect in my language center."

"Ya think?"

"I don't know. I have little interest in medicine."

"Maybe another popcorn big bang would reconnect your circuits."

"Possibly. If I could access Computress, I should be able to answer that."

Ben knew from experience that accessing Computress' higher functions required fingerprint, retina, and voice matches before the super computer would give a user the time of day. He looked at Dexter, thinking hard. Palm and retina scans they had right here, it was just the accent that they needed.

"Um. Well." He ran a hand through his brown hair, not sure if his idea was a stroke of genius or so dumb as to be Billy-worthy. "How about I teach you say your password without this accent? You could check with Computress then."

"Incorrect pronunciation is what doomed me previously," Dexter mused, not entirely convinced but eager to hear more. Any suggestion - no matter how hare-brained - was welcome at this point. "Do you think you could manage it?"

"C'mon, Dex!" he exclaimed, warming up to his own brilliance. "I saved the whole universe! What's the worst that could happen?"


	5. Speech Therapy

**Part the Fifth: Speech Therapy**

"Okay, Dex, try it again."

Slowly, with cautious articulation, Dexter said, "Coo-ell turtles roo-el in the lab-boor-uh-torry."

Ben pressed a hand to his chin, considering. They had been going at it for close on an hour or so in the sun room of the Utonium family suite, drinking sweet tea and devouring potato sticks all the while. Ben wasn't exactly sure of how well Dexter was doing at this point. Of course his latest password just _had_ to incorporate quite a few of his signature (mis)pronunciations. The infamous and much-coveted _kew-wel_, the rarely-heard though always appreciated _thurtle_, and the mother of all inflection nightmares, _lah-boor-ruh-tory_.

"Thurtles," corrected Ben, figuring he'd start on the easiest target. "Thurr-tles."

"Thurr-tles," Dexter obediently echoed.

"Stretch out the _s_ more. And it's not coo-ell. It's more a _k_ sound with _w_'s in the middle. Kew-wel."

"Kewl."

"Two syllables, Dex, with lots of _w_. Kew-wel."

"Coo-wel."

"Close. Try again."

"Kewel thurrtles roo-el in the labor-uh-torry."

"You're getting there. What's with the turtle thing?"

"I like turtles," Dexter said, abandoning his attempts at Midwest accent-free delivery.

"Really? I thought you . . . y'know, didn't like animals."

"I don't, but reptiles aren't so bad. Besides, I know I can outrun turtles."

There was logic in there somewhere. There had to be, because Dexter said it. The password was admittedly silly, but Dexter had pointed out that he changed it often and needed something easily remembered. Besides he hadn't been able to come up with any _Star Trek_ or _Star Wars _quotes that he hadn't already used at the time.

Ben was on the verge of tackling _laboratory _when the door chimed. Dexter excused himself and went to answer it, returning a few moments later with Chief Barnes in tow. Barnes, Ben knew, was the top-ranked pilot at DexLabs, though both times their paths had crossed in the past Ben had first been raging out of control and then incapacitated, so he'd never actually met the man before now. He carried a small plastic container and a folder, both of which he handed to his employer.

"Sgt. Morton asked me to give you this, Boss. He said you were expecting it."

"Ah," Dexter said a little uneasily, setting the report and the container on the coffee table as Ben rose to greet the pilot.

"I'm looking for your father, sir," Barnes stated once the introductions were done. "He was supposed to be at the helipad ten minutes ago for the flight to Townsville."

Dexter sighed. The parent/teacher conferences. The Professor ranked them even higher than having a cavity drilled or getting a tax audit on the list of activities he hated most.

"He hasn't called?" asked Dexter, ignoring Barnes' surprised expression at his pronunciation.

"No, sir. I couldn't find anyone that's seen him today."

"He's hiding. Hold on, Chief, I'll get him."

Ben got the feeling that Dexter was rather enjoying himself as he marched up the stairs. They could hear as he knocked on a door and called, "Dad! Dad, I know you're in there! Chief Barnes is looking for you. _Nightflight Alpha _is ready to go."

"I'm not going," was the petulant reply, muffled by the door.

"Get out here!" Dexter ordered. "You're going! You have to!"

"They can phone in the meeting."

"Dad, it's ten minutes a girl. Half an hour of your life. You'll live."

"No, I won't!"

"You're being childish!"

"I'm allowed!"

"No, you're not. That's my job. I hired you to do grownup stuff, so do it!" Dexter stamped his foot. "You made me give that presentation yesterday with this ridiculous accent! You're not getting out of this, Patrick!"

Barnes looked to Ben for enlightenment, but the teen just shook his head and tried not to laugh as father and son swapped roles.

"Dad, come out now or I swear I'm going to ask Ben to turn into something weird and haul you out!"

Ben dialed through the aliens available to him. Barnes watched with interest as he flicked from one hologram to the next. "Chromastone ought to do it."

The door was snatched open and Patrick Utonium glared down at young Mr. Tennyson. "Don't even think about it, Benjamin! Not in the house! And I'm still annoyed with you!"

Ben snatched his hand away from the Omnitrix and tried his best to be invisible.

The Professor slowly let his breath out, glowering at everyone assembled, starting and ending with the feisty little redhead standing in front of him. Dexter looked at him evenly.

"You know how much I hate doing this!" snapped the Professor.

"Be glad you don't have to do it for me."

"I'd never survive."

He smiled smugly. "No one has ever died from parent/teacher conferences."

Leaning close, the dark-haired man hissed, "_Yet. _And that's because I've been avoiding them for years."

"Then by virtue of that alone I should be your favorite child."

Muttering to himself, Utonium gave in to the inevitable and stomped down the stairs. Dexter waved Barnes on as the Professor very reluctantly headed off to face his daughters' teachers (though by looking at him, Ben would have sooner guessed he was on his way to his own execution). Ben held his breath until the door closed behind them, and then he grinned.

"He dreads these meetings," said Dexter, dropping back onto the sofa. "I'm not sure why. Probably some childhood trauma he doesn't even remember. Luckily Mr. Green keeps him apprised of my classes and grades on a regular basis, so he doesn't quite realize he's having several parent/teacher conferences a week."

"Maybe he should know," reasoned the brunet, going straight for the potato sticks. "He might build up some tolerance for them."

"No," Dexter said thoughtfully. "He'd just get a rash."

"What's in the box? Present from Morton?" Ben tapped it with his foot.

Dexter glanced at the container, and despite himself he was rather pleased that it was relatively small. "No. Popcorn. Unpopped."

"Haven't you gotten enough of that stuff yet?"

"Apparently not. On to the laboratory!"

"Hold on thar, Sparky. You're not going anywhere saying it like that."

Knowing it was true, Dexter sighed. "I'll never learn the ways of the Force, Ben."

"Tch, tch. Come, my padawan. Kitchen first, we tank up on food and then the lah-boor-uh-torry second."

"Lab-boor-uh-tory," echoed Dexter, following.

"No. Lah-boor, not lab-or. Lah, Dex, lah."

"Lah," said Dexter, opening the refrigerator and looking for anything to consume. That he had devoured obscene amounts of potato sticks and was due to eat dinner in two hours bothered him not at all. He and Ben were at the age all teenage boys hit where there simply was never enough food in the house. Even when he was annoyed at them, the Professor was delighted that they actually showed signs of possessing appetites, and so voiced no complaints when they ate before or after meals, just so long as they ate. By comparison they were still well behind the Powerpuff Girls in calories consumed and neither boy was in danger of not fitting into his clothes, but at least Utonium's fears of both boys suffering from malnutrition were allayed. Dexter pulled out a large bowl and set it on the counter, still practicing. "La. La. La. La-bor."

"Lah," corrected Ben. "Lah-boor. Are you eating salad?"

"Yes. Shut up."

"That's unnatural."

"Said the boy who drinks turnip smoothies."

"Turnip and wheatgrass, Dex."

"How could I forget the cat food? What, they were out of oyster-flavored smoothies?"

"No, I just wanted to try the trout first."

"Gross."

"Say it in three syllables and a _w_, Boy Genius."

"I can't. This accent won't allow it."

"Yeah, well, what's gross is you eating rabbit food without dressing. Try this: lah-boor-uh-torry."

"La-bor-a-tory."

"Drag it out more. Kew-wel thurtles rew-wel in the lah-boor-uh-torry."

Dexter swallowed a mouthful of lettuce and laboriously enunciated, "Kew-wel thurtles rew-wel in the la-boor-uh-torry."

"Almost, kiddo. Computress won't know what hit her."

"If she doesn't hit me first," muttered Dexter.

**OoOoOoOoOoOoO**

Ben was shaking the DexWare container full of unpopped corn like a rattle. For someone of no musical or dancing skills (that Dexter knew of, anyway) he was managing to produce quite a spirited rhythm as they rode the elevator down to the lab. Dexter found himself mentally fitting the beat to piano exercises. Had he been one whit less nervous about trying to fool his own supercomputer, Dexter would have taken the container away long ago. As it was he was having second doubts about the intelligence of this scheme, but he didn't want to disappoint Ben or waste the speech lesson he'd just received. He wished such unconscious charisma and calm were contagious. Dexter's version of calm was to lock down his emotions during a crisis. Ben somehow managed to roll with just about everything and make it look easy. Dexter was the poster child for uptightness in comparison.

"Don't panic, Dex," Ben abruptly said, pausing his musical number. "It'll work and we'll figure out how to get rid of this accent thing you've got going on."

A sigh escaped the younger boy.

"You've been locked in and out of your lab before. This is just one more notch in your test tube rack."

"Not exactly the variety of notch I want to accumulate."

"Don't worry. It'll work."

**OoOoOoOoOoOoO**

_"Unauthorized access attempted. Initiating Invasion Protocol Delta-1. Repeat, unauthorized access attempted. Initiating Invasion Protocol Delta-1. Imposter detected. Containment measures being taken."_

Dexter slapped a purple-gloved hand to his face and groaned.

"Or maybe not," Ben admitted as alarms pealed and Computress' voice echoed all around them. "Uh, Dex, maybe we should, uh, I dunno, run like the place is on fire? Maybe?"

The younger teen sighed and shook his head, stepping away from the computer terminal. "No good. She's too fast. We won't make it to the doors."

The Wielder of the Omnitrix laid hold of his arm. "You give up too easy. C'mon!"

"I know what I'm up against. I designed the system."

Still clutching his container of burnt corn in one hand and Dexter's sleeve in the other, Ben turned to escape the lab and smacked straight into a force field. He had so much forward motion that the hard check bounced him backwards into Dexter. He dropped his makeshift musical instrument on impact. All the shaking had loosened the lid and corn spilled over the floor in a neat block that showed them they had a grant total of about eight feet square in their cage of force fields. Dexter, smaller than Ben in every way save in his ego, temper, and arrogance, did his best to stop his friend's momentum and prop him up at the same time to no avail. His boots slipped on the hard kernels beneath his feet as he tried to brace himself and Ben and once they lost their balance, it was all over. Both boys crashed over backwards, Ben's landing padded by the scrawny boy beneath him and Dexter's landing made even more uncomfortable by the popcorn below and Ben above.

There was a long pause, and then a young voice moaned, "Owwww."


	6. The Scientific Application of Popcorn

**Chapter Six: The Scientific Application of Popcorn**

A/N My heartfelt thanks to Deserthaze for her assistance with this chapter!

**OoOoOoOoOoOoO**

"Owwwww."

"Dex? You okay? Dex? Oh, man! Don't be busted! Your dad's going to kill me even more now!"

Ben hastily rolled off his landing pad, worry filling his green eyes as he tried to will himself to weigh a lot less than he did to spare the geek in glasses. Not that he was heavy by any stretch of the imagination – he was short and skinny for his age – but Dexter was so scrawny by comparison that he was practically two-dimensional when he turned sideways.

"I didn't see the field. I mean, look! There's nothing to see."

He helped his friend to sit up. Blackened corn kernels rained down from Dexter's lab coat and hair and he blinked wide and slow, trying to clear his vision. Several kernels found their way down his turtleneck sweater, making him twitch.

"You okay? I'm sorry."

He blinked again and made a sound like 'Ya-yey-a' as he tried to orient himself, rubbing his sore head. Ben looked just past him.

"I think you dented the floor."

"Not to mention my skull."

Ben almost dropped his friend in shock. "What?"

"I said, 'Not to ment-"

"No, Dex! You're you again!" In his excitement he shook the younger boy, too thrilled to notice he was rattling Dexter's teeth. "You're talking like you're supposed to! Your accent is-" He almost said _back_, but knowing how Dexter felt about the matter, he hastily amended that to, "Gone!"

"What?" Dexter frowned, trying to hear it.

"Say something. Say turtles."

"Thurthles."

"Cooties."

"Kew-tees."

"Laboratory!"

"Lah-boor-uh-torry." Dexter slowly smiled, able to hear what he thought was a lack of an accent.

"Illudium Pu-36 explosive space modulator!" gushed Ben.

The redhead stared. _"What?"_

"It was worth a try." Ben broke into a wide grin, delighted at the return of one of his favorite entertainments. Really, if Dexter ever recorded a book, Ben would buy it regardless of the topic just to listen to that accent. "Cool!"

"Kew-wel," Dexter obediently echoed, not realizing Ben was merely expressing his satisfaction. "I'm impressed. I thought this kind of thing only worked in cartoons. I suppose your plan succeeded in a roundabout way. My thanks, Benjamin."

Ben laughed. "So get us out of here! I drank half a pitcher of iced tea before."

"I can't." Dexter gestured when his friend's face fell. "What? Only the Professor can lift the protocol now and he has to be here to do it." He made a face and muttered darkly, "Along with Security."

"Oh, great! Your dad already wants to kill me for starting this and now for denting your skull and Morton wants to help him do it."

"That's what _you_ think, Mr. Tennyson. What time is it?"

Ben checked his watch. "Five-thirty."

"Perfect. His parent/teacher conference was at six. Thanks to you, he'll have to miss it. He's the first person Computress would call and he'll come right back here to save us. We just have to wait until he gets back. You're now his favorite kid, I guarantee it. This will be equated to saving his life, if not mine as well, and he'll rise up and call you blesséd."

"Oh." Ben was mollified somewhat by this news. "So I'm not going to wake up some weird mutated thing with my DNA all mashed up with a Venus fly trap's or something?"

"Don't you do that anyway?"

"Well, yeah, but when I do it, it's on purpose. And I just do it to myself, not for revenge."

"Don't worry. Just don't pass by his genetics lab for a few weeks." He looked at his friend with interest. "You know, you could turn into Big Chill and phase out of here. Computress is only holding me right now. You're just a bonus prisoner."

Ben scooped up a handful of burned popcorn kernels and proceeded to bounce them off the force field one at a time. They made a sound like a bug being zapped even though the kernels remained intact, adding to the din of Computress' alarm system. "Naa. I won't leave you to face the music alone. I'm the one who talked you into this."

"Your support is appreciated." Dexter scooped up a handful of kernels and imitated his friend.

"It was worth a try."

"Indeed."

"Hey, at least you know your security system works."

"Too well."

They sat side-by-side in their small cage made of force fields, listening to the alarms and waiting for Security to come barreling down the elevators with their big guns and radios and find them trapped in the middle of the laboratory. Their corn-bouncing gradually turned from a means of whiling away the time to a game as they tried to deflect the un-aerodynamic projectiles off multiple walls of their cage. Points were awarded if they managed to hit one another in the process or landed a kernel back in the container.

"So whatcha gonna do with all these strides forward in popcorn popping technology?" asked Ben, reloading his arsenal.

Dexter took advantage of his friend leaning forward and beaned him atop the head. "Destroy that device so I never have to be reminded of this incident again. Why?"

"Oh, c'mon, Dex, that gizmo is too cool to chuck in the compactor. Do something with it!"

"Like what?"

"I dunno! You're the smart one. There's got to be an application for mass popcorn detonation. Make crash gear, only instead of airbags, you have popcorn bags. That way you survive a crash or a fall and then you get a snack after."

Dexter stared at him, torn between horror and hysterics. "Auto-pop airbags. That's so ridiculous, it could work."

"Ha! See, Boy Genius?"

"Not really."

"The KND would love that!"

"In that case, Ben, I'll give you the remote. You can play with it or give it to the KND scientists to develop into a safety feature on their vehicles."

"Really? Cool! Oh, wait, they'll probably crash on purpose when they get hungry, then."

"My thoughts exactly. Make it Number 2's problem."

"You want updates if he makes any progress?"

"No."

Ben laughed and renewed his assault on the force fields. He steeply angled the kernel of burnt corn he was throwing. "Hey, ever wonder what would happen if we took all the burnt corn and-"

A little hiss escaped the younger teen as the piece of corn went down the high collar of his lab coat, and he silenced Ben Tennyson with a stern glare worthy of Patrick Utonium. "No. I haven't. So don't go there."

Cowed by the little spitfire beside him, Ben wisely shut up. For a few long minutes they were quiet. Dexter's stomach grumbled. Ben racked up three more points to Dexter's one. Time dragged on as they waited for the Professor to come rescue them. Dexter rubbed the sore spot on the back of his head, grateful for a return to normalcy even if the price for normal was painful. Finally Ben broke the silence.

"Zombie movie later?" he asked. "Number 4 let me borrow _Zombies of the Outback_ and _Living Dead Walkabout."_

"Just so long as there's no popcorn involved."

"Naa. We're celebrating. We'll upgrade to cheezy poofs."

"Cheezy poofs?" Dexter eyed him askance, never having heard of such a delicacy and curious if anything so named could be fit for human consumption. "A strangely fitting snack for a zombie film festival. Are they edible?"

"Very, but there's no nutrition involved whatsoever."

"That would be an extremely unhealthy, fattening, pointless, and mind-numbing evening."

"Yeah." Ben nodded in satisfaction. "Sure would."

"It sounds wonderful. Count me in."


End file.
